


Third Chance Chapter 1

by xahra99



Category: Terminator
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-02
Updated: 2009-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xahra99/pseuds/xahra99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyborgs don't make good organ donors after all. Marcus survived, but lost his last chance for redemption. So when Connor offers him a new mission, he accepts. But nothing is ever as easy as it seems in this new world... AU. Postgame. Complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Third Chance.

Third Chance.

A Terminator: Salvation fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter One:

 _In which we learn that Marcus Wright is still not dead, and why._

A bitter winter wind swept down the corridors of the New York Resistance headquarters. It did nothing to dispel the fug of socks and sweat. The HQ smelt like every Resistance base Marcus Wright had ever been in.

It smelt a bit like prison.

He had arrived in New York two weeks ago aboard one of the West Coast Resistance helicopters. A few of them had travelled to the city to help the Statesiders destroy their own Skynet facility. The Resistance had sent not one but two 'copters; one each for John and Kate Connor. The West Coast leaders were nothing if not practical, and they had known that there had been a good chance one of the helicopters would not survive the journey. Marcus had ridden with John and Barnes in the first 'copter. It had been an awkward flight. Barnes had had the grace to apologise to Marcus for shooting him, but Marcus still didn't trust the man. And Connor...well, Connor was the next best thing to a messiah the Resistance had, but he didn't talk much.

The New Yorkers treated them all like heroes.

Marcus didn't care much for the kudos, but he thought he understood. The West Coast victory hadn't made much difference to the machines in the east, but they'd proven that Skynet could be stopped.

 _Even if it was all a fluke_ , he thought grimly to himself as he trailed one hand along the cast-iron pipes set into the wall. The New York bunker in winter was very different to San Francisco in summer. The Resistance had set up headquarters in the basement of the Natural History Museum. It was cramped, dark and cold. It was also crowded.

The humans who had survived the apocalypse were a new breed. They shot first and asked questions later and they had gotten extremely good at killing Terminators. It had seemed easier all around not to tell the New York faction what Marcus was. The subterfuge was necessary, but it put Marcus on edge. So when someone tapped him on the shoulder he spun around and was relieved to find a familiar figure standing behind him.

It was Blair.

Marcus blinked in surprise.

Blair hadn't come to New York in a 'copter. Connor had sent her off on a recon mission a few weeks ago, and Marcus hadn't seen her since. He stared at her as if she was a ghost, taking in every detail.

He knew that she couldn't have been grounded long because the ochre face paint she always wore on missions was still streaked over her eyes. Her hair hung loose in a beautiful and gloriously impractical mess. Three layers of silver chains dangled around her neck.

Blair grinned. "Marcus!"

Marcus said nothing in reply. Instead he stepped forwards and hugged her. He found human contact much easier these days. Blair twined her arms around his neck as fiercely as she always did, and Marcus held her gently, the way _he_ always did.

"I won't break," Blair said. Her voice was muffled against Marcus' leather jacket.

"I know." Marcus told her. He tightened his grip just a bit, but he still held her gently. She smelt of sun-warmed leather. The scent was nearly strong enough to dispel the chill that permeated the dank tunnels. Their shared body heat seeped through Marcus's coat. It felt pleasant and familiar and no doubt far better than Marcus deserved.

Blair was one of the things he liked about this new and different life. He'd missed her.

The sentiment seemed like something that would be good to say, so he muttered, "I've missed you," into her hair. Marcus had never been particularly eloquent. "It's been a while."

Blair took the hint. "Mmm. Yeah. Let's make the most of it." She stretched and pulled away from Marcus. Her leather flight suit creaked. "I'm not here for long," she said. "And I think Connor's got something for you, too."

"What?" Marcus asked.

"He wouldn't say."

"Where's your stuff?"

Blair's grin got wider. "In my bunk. Wanna see?"

"Hell, yeah." He looked around. "Which way?"

Blair bowed and ushered him elaborately down the corridor. "Come and look."

Marcus followed her down the corridor, trying not to gaze at her ass in the tight suit as she walked. A few people greeted him as they passed. To Marcus's surprise, more people acknowledged him than Blair. When he commented on it to Blair, she just smiled at him and said. "I've just arrived. You've been here, what, a couple of weeks? They know you beat Skynet in San Francisco."

Marcus looked down at the red rag tied around his left arm that marked him out as a West Coaster. The New York factions wore a green stripe that had started off as a patch of Lady Liberty but simplified with time. "They don't know me."

Blair held back the curtain to a small dorm room. "Does it matter?" she said as Marcus ducked inside. "You're a hero, these days. We all are."

Marcus snorted. "Right. Big damn heroes."

"Yes, right." Blair said. She sounded amused. "Marcus, why'd you find it so hard?"

There was a part of Marcus that was hard, but he didn't particularly want to mention it. He just shrugged. Blair didn't press the issue and Marcus held his peace as they walked down the dorm.

The room was a long corridor with one dead end. Floor length green curtains separated each bed from its neighbour in a vain attempt at privacy. Blair tossed her jacket down on a camp bed about two-thirds of the way along. "This is mine."

She reached up to untie the laces that held the curtains back, but Marcus was faster. He reached over her head and yanked the ties free. The curtains fell down around them. Their drapes transformed the camp bed into a dim green cave.

Blair kicked off her boots. Marcus tugged off his jacket. He slid his hands under Blair's legs and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips. Her necklaces were cold against his throat. The dorm was freezing, so they both unzipped the bare minimum. It worked, somehow.

"You smell of sun," Marcus growled against Blair's neck.

Blair moaned as he arched hard into her. Her neck curved back and her black hair tangled on the pillow. Marcus cupped her face tenderly in his hands. His fingers traced from Blair's jaw to her hairline. He liked the way his skin showed up pale against her olive tan.

Blair writhed. "Oh!" she ground out. "Fuck me!"

"Yeah, fuck her, Marcus," a voice said from the opposite side of the curtain.

Marcus slowed. He would have stopped if Blair hadn't grabbed his shoulder."What...are you doing?" she gasped.

"I thought-"

"There's nowhere else to go! Ignore them!"

Marcus buried his face in Blair's neck and picked up his rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his. Their mouths touched hot and frantic. They didn't hear the next objection. By the time the old campaigner's protests had faded into snoring silence, they lay shoulder to shoulder under a threadbare woollen blanket and Marcus's old coat.

Blair picked up Marcus's hand and ran it idly over her stomach. "Maybe I'll...you know," she said.

Marcus shrugged. He was pretty sure that he couldn't give Blair anything except a computer virus. Since the nuclear apocalypse, most men fired blanks. Children were treasured in this new world, and life was hard. Skynet might not have to kill the human race; they'd just have to wait until they died out.

"I never wanted to be a pilot." Blair said sleepily. "Never would have been a pilot, if it weren't for this war."

"Lots of people're things they'd never have been before the war." Marcus said.

"Yeah. Like dead."

Marcus slid a hand around her shoulders. He traced the outline of her collarbone and thought of the steel tendons and wires that ran beneath his skin. "What _did_ you want?

Blair shrugged. Her narrow shoulders tensed against Marcus's chest. "A dancer, perhaps, or a model. I was a kid. Stupid, huh? I don't think I'd decided when Judgement Day hit us. After Judgement Day, I just wanted to survive. Instead, I got the skies. And I'm happy."

"You're happy?"

"Don't sound surprised. You have no idea about yourself, do you? I love you. I don't care what you are."

"You don't." Marcus tried hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. He wasn't sure that he succeeded. "What about the others?"

"What about them?" Blair lowered her voice.

"We're not on the West Coast anymore. They don't know me here."

"I know. But-"

"Once they do, there's three ways it's going to go." Marcus held up three fingers on his right hand. "First way." He folded one finger down. "They don't trust me. They take me out. Me, and anyone else who gets in the way."

"Things won't go like that," Blair said loyally. "Folks _like_ you, Marcus. You're a good guy-"

He interrupted. "Second way." He folded the second finger down. "It goes okay. They think I'm a good sign. That all Terminators will become sentient and leave the war of their own accord. But we both know that won't happen. I was made like this. I didn't choose.'"

"Marcus, I don't think..."

"Third way. They think the Terminators are going underground. That I'm some sort of sleeper agent. That I'll tear open the Resistance from inside. They think I only offered Connor my heart so that Connor'd let me live. So they let things lie, but they still don't trust me."

"It won't happen like that!"

"Won't it?"

"No." Blair said simply. "Marcus, what's bothering you? It isn't like you to be this talkative." She traced thin fingers over his ribs, and placed her palm flat over his heart. "Or this bitter."

Marcus shook his head. "Sorry. This place, though. It bothers me."

"Why?"

"Everybody here's spent most of their lives fighting the machines."

"So?"

"So I _am_ a machine, Blair. They'll find out, sooner or later."

She cocked her head. "That doesn't matter."

"I wish it didn't."

"It doesn't matter right now." Blair's hand moved downwards. Her watch beeped. "Shit." She flipped the blanket back, reached down to the floor and glanced at the watch's luminescent face. "Shit," she repeated.

Marcus was instantly on alert. "What?"

"Remember when I told you Connor had a mission for you?"

"I really wasn't paying attention." Marcus said. "And I really don't give a damn about Connor right now."

"Well, Connor wants to see you."

"When?"

"In about...oh, fifteen minutes. Ops room B."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted you all to myself for a while." Blair said. She walked her fingers down Marcus's neck. Her touch made him shiver and soothed him more than he would admit. "We've still got time."

Marcus knew that it took ten minutes to walk from the dormitory level to the command bunker down on the third level. Being late was something a human would do, so he said nothing.

He left the dorm slightly more than five minutes later, pulling on his leather jacket as he walked. The jacket smelt of Blair; of sex and sweat and Californian summer sun.

"You're late," Connor said as soon as Marcus opened the inch-thick steel door of the ops room.

"I know," Marcus said. As he closed the door behind him he added, "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter." Connor said. His voice was hoarse. He looked gaunter than he had when Marcus had first met him. The outline of a cardboard packet was visible in his breast pocket. Connor had survived the operation. Keeping him alive was more difficult. Connor would have to take anti-rejection drugs every day for the rest of his life. The drugs were hard to come by. The Resistance fetched them willingly-but the price of Connor's medication was measured in human lives.

Connor coughed."I've got a job for you."

Marcus nodded.

"New York intel's found a bunch of programmers holed up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Seems like they've developed a script that'll allow us to interact with Skynet systems more effectively. Maybe even reprogram Terminators. Not just motorbikes. The real thing."

"Reprogram?" Marcus asked. He recalled the white, blue and red of the San Francisco Skynet database. He still saw the patterns in his sleep but he could no longer hold a clear picture of the network in his mind, just like he couldn't conjure a clear picture of the early twenty-first century anymore.

Connor heard what Marcus meant, rather than what he said. He turned abruptly away, hands dug deeply in the baggy pockets of his combat trousers. "Don't worry," he said over his shoulder. "We won't use you as a test subject. But my mother told me that we would be able to use Terminators to protect ourselves from the machines. This could be the first step."

"Sounds...interesting." Marcus said.

Connor dug through a pile of papers on the desk behind him. He pulled out a map and turned back to Marcus. The cyborg watched as Connor smoothed out the creases and placed the map softly, almost reverently, on a clear desk. He stabbed a thin finger at a point on the map. "We'll drop you here. It's the closest road access we've been able to find. The wilderness has pretty much reclaimed everything between _there_ ," Connor traced an imaginary circle on the map, "and the base." He marked another spot."The base is here."

Marcus peered at the map. It looked like a long way. It looked, in fact, like suicide. No wonder Connor had offered him the mission.

Even back in the days when the roads were clear and people could travel unharmed, the programmers' North Carolina hideout would still have been considered remote. There were very few highways marked. Most of the smaller roads would have been reduced to oblivion by ten years of neglect. The vast majority of the map was marked as forest. "Looks difficult."

Connor's voice was grim as a burst of machine gun fire. "It is. The forests down there are swarming with machines. The New Yorkers already sent some men in."

"What happened?"

Connor's face was bleak. "They died."

"All of them?"

"All of them." Connor said. "But you've got a better chance than any of those poor bastards ever had. Besides, the code might help _you_."

"How?" Marcus asked sceptically.

Connor shrugged. "The code's supposed to reprogram the machines. It might let you sync directly into Skynet."

"Did that back in San Francisco."

"Without the chip. An ability like that might come in handy, one day. "

 _It might not_ , Marcus thought. He dragged what little he knew about computers from the back of his mind. "Can't the programmers just upload the software?"

Connor shook his head. "Won't work," he said. "Satellites down. No broadband, either."

"Phone lines?"

Connor looked at Marcus like he was crazy. "No such thing. Not anymore. There's no other way. That's why I'm asking you to go. Yes? Or no?"

Marcus nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Connor said. He actually sounded pleased."You realize that I'll have to clear things with the New York command first? Once that's done, you'll-"

He paused as the ops room's thick steel door opened. Both men turned around. Connor's eyes narrowed, but the lines on his face abruptly relaxed as Kate entered. She stepped over the doorframe carefully. Her right hand rested on her increasingly pregnant belly.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked brightly as she closed the door behind her.

"No." Connor said. "We're almost done." He turned back to Marcus. "One thing."

"What?"

"The generals are gonna want to know why I've picked you. I need to make sure you're okay with that."

Marcus realized the implications immediately. "You're going to have to have to tell the generals what I am."

Connor nodded.

Marcus cursed. "Shit."

"Is it a problem?"

He shook his head. "Doesn't have to be."

"Good." Connor tucked the map into his trouser pocket. "That's settled. Meet me upstairs at fourteen hundred hours." He turned to Kate. "Everything okay?" His voice was brusque, but the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at Kate told Marcus all he needed to know about their relationship.

Kate nodded. "Everything's fine. I just came to find Marcus." She looked up at the cyborg. "I'd like to ask you something, if you're free?"

Marcus could think of no good excuse. "Sure."

Connor nodded to both of them and left. Kate stood awkwardly opposite Marcus. She fiddled with the hem of her sweater. Marcus wondered what had brought her here. "What do you want?"

Kate flinched almost imperceptibly at the harshness of his voice. She curled one hand protectively over the swell of her belly and spoke with dignity. "All I want to do is say thank you."

"It's been a while."Marcus said ungratefully. "Why now?"

You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't-" Marcus began to say. He paused when he was only half way through the word.

Kate nodded. "Yes, you have."

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. His augmented hearing picked up the quiet movements of Kate Connor's body: every inhalation, every heartbeat and every sound. He consciously curbed his senses. He could give her some privacy, at least.

"You would have given Connor your heart." Kate said flatly.

Marcus shrugged. He wanted to leave more than anything, but he knew that Kate would only find him again. He thought it best to get this awkward conversation over with as quickly and as cleanly as possible. "Sorry it didn't work," he said, and felt like a fool.

Kate shook her head. "It was a very brave and very stupid thing to do," she said. She patted the bump again. This time the gesture was affectionate rather than defensive. "Thank you. From both of us."

Marcus felt like even more of an idiot. "Don't mention it," he told her, and meant it. He didn't like to be reminded of his failure. He'd been perfectly prepared to donate his heart to Connor. It had been his last chance at salvation. It had been refused.

"There's another reason I wanted to speak to you, you know," Kate said.

"What?"

"I've tested the samples I took before the op."

Marcus said nothing. Kate had taken several fragments of Marcus's tissue for testing while he lay, heavily sedated, in the field hospital. The results of those tests had made his redemption a work-in-progress. He hadn't realized she'd kept the samples.

"You know that your tissue can't be used for human transplants," she said.

 _Yeah_ , Marcus thought. _Turns out I'm less human than a pig._

"Have you ever given any thought to what it _could_ be used for?"

"Guess not."

"You heal so fast, it's a pity we can't replicate the effect in human patients. In fact, if I'm right, your body will repair itself as long as there's a patch of skin on your frame. The only exceptions are your heart and your brain, so you're vulnerable to concussion, thrombosis and shock just as we are."

"I learned that back in LA."Marcus told her.

Kate ignored him. "You feel hunger, thirst, heat and cold, as well, but it can't damage you. Connor told me that you made it through the south-west deserts alone. You never would have managed that if you were human."

"Lucky me," Marcus said, "I try not to think about it."

"Why on earth not?" Kate asked, as if she couldn't understand anybody wanting to stay in ignorance of anything.

"I don't want to be like the T600s."

She laughed. "Marcus, believe you me, you are nothing like the T600s."

"I don't want to know if I'm immortal. If my body'll keep crawling even after the legs are blown off. If I'll be the last man who remembers proper beer, in a real bottle. From a shop. Or a baseball game in a stadium rather than a hangar. I just, you know, I liked it when everybody thought I was human. When _I_ thought I was human."

"I understand." Kate said. "But..."

"How?" Marcus demanded.

Kate stared at him. She said nothing. Perhaps there was nothing to say.

Marcus sighed. Nobody could understand, but maybe Kate, with her studies and her medical knowledge, could guess. Or maybe he'd have better luck with Connor, or some of the older guys, who thought so much about fighting the machines they practically were machines themselves. "Never mind." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to apologise for." Kate told him.

Marcus knew the words for a lie even before they left her lips. "I've got to go," he told her, even though the meeting was a half-hour away.

"I understand." Kate said solemnly. "Take care."

Marcus muttered an apology, and left. He skulked off into the dingy grey tunnels of the base's living quarters feeling like a jerk.

It was the last place he wanted to be.

If Marcus had been on the West Coast he'd have wandered up to the surface and climbed up one of the ventilation shafts to watch the sun set across the desert. In the old days, he'd have jacked a car and driven for miles. But here in New York, space was at a premium, and Manhattan's streets were choked with rusting hulks. There was no way he'd be allowed up to the surface, not without permission. He decided to go find Blair, ride out the wave of cabin fever. Maybe by the time he'd caught up with her, he'd be halfway decent company.

Somebody shouted his name. "Marcus!"

For a moment Marcus thought the voice was Blair's, but the pitch was all wrong. The sentence was repeated, and he finally placed the accent. It was Reese.

Marcus stifled a groan. Kyle was the last thing he needed right now. But he owed the kid more than silence, so he forced a smile as Reese ran up, ducking his head to avoid the heating pipes.

Kyle had flown with Kate Connor in the second 'copter. At first Marcus had thought Kyle an odd, but welcome addition. The kid didn't lose his head in a crisis. He was useful. Connor liked him. Later, he'd learnt from Connor that Kyle was important. That he'd do great things. But there was a shadow in Connor's eyes whenever he looked at the kid, and Marcus had deduced that the great things Kyle was destined for weren't necessarily great for Kyle.

"How're you?" he offered.

Kyle grinned. "Pretty good. They've got some neat stuff over here. They're teaching me munitions. It's fun." He scratched his head. "Actually," he said, "I was wondering if you knew anything 'bout explosives. Thought maybe you could teach me."

Marcus shook his head. His sole experience with munitions had been a close encounter with a magnetic mine. He had no intention of repeating the experience. "No."

From the disappointed look in his eyes it was clear that Kyle had expected more. Marcus shrugged. He was too tired for Kyle's questions, but not tired enough that he didn't feel guilty about it. He checked his watch. "I need to go."

Kyle looked even more disappointed. "A new mission?"

Marcus nodded. A barrage of small bodies slammed into his legs. They both moved to the side of the tunnel as a few kids stampeded past. Marcus reached up and grabbed a couple of the ceiling ducts for balance. He relished the warmth that seeped through his gloves.

Kyle watched the kids run away. It didn't take much processing power for Marcus to guess what he was thinking. "You missing Star?" he asked.

Kyle nodded. Star had been left behind on the West Coast, because everyone except Kyle had agreed that it was better not to bring a little kid to New York. She still didn't talk, but she had lost the half-feral alertness that had marked her from the other children. "D' you think she's okay?"

Marcus shrugged. "She'll be fine."

Further down the corridor, the kids had stopped running. A little girl with dirty blond plaits lifted a carrot to her mouth with an expression of supreme contentment. The new breed of kids worried Marcus. Most of the younger children had known nothing but running and hiding. They didn't complain and they didn't cry. Kids used to annoy him. These children broke his heart.

Marcus's watch beeped. He checked the time and frowned. "Look, I've got to meet Connor topside."

Kyle's attention snapped back to Marcus."Your mission?"

"Yeah." Marcus said briefly. He could tell that Kyle wanted to ask more, but the boy said nothing. The New York command was mostly ex-military. They had a more formal leadership structure than Connor, did, and they frowned upon gossip. "I'll try and catch up later."

Kyle nodded. He punched Marcus's arm, pulled his knitted hat down over his ears and headed off down the corridor.

Marcus headed to the surface via Blair's dorm. The cubicle was empty; although Blair had left a few traces of her presence in the short time she had inhabited it. Her leather jacket was slung carelessly over the bed, and she'd left a message scrawled in wax pencil on the corner of the small mirror. _See you later. XX. B._

Marcus scrubbed the grease from the glass with his sleeve. The silvering had begun to peel away from the mirror and the glass was marred with dark patches. He saw a reflection of his own suspicious eyes; a fragmented curve of cheekbone with the endoskeleton beneath pressed hard against the skin.

Marcus turned away.

He left the room and headed upwards; to the top levels, and to Connor.

The red rag on his sleeve and Connor's name was enough to get Marcus to the second level of security, where he waited as the guards sent messengers inside the command bunker to tell Connor he had arrived. After a while one of the guards beckoned Marcus forwards and escorted him through the corridors. Each passage was lined with computers; each machine tended by a pale-skinned tech type who barely looked up as Marcus walked past. Green code scrolled across each monitor. Marcus glanced curiously at one machine as he passed, and he made out the words 'transport', 'prisoners' and a set of co-ordinates that looked like map references before his human brain caught up with his machine cortex and he realized that he really shouldn't have been able to read the text.

 _Shit._

Marcus closed his eyes. Ciphers danced on the screens of his eyelids. His boot hit something hard and he stumbled. His body compensated automatically. One hand caught the back of a chair. Marcus pushed himself upright and looked around. He wondered if anybody had noticed. The tech sitting in the chair turned and gazed at Marcus incuriously for a moment before she settled back down to her work, but nobody else gave a damn. Marcus could count a dozen like her in this corridor alone. For all he knew, there were hundreds more. The kids that Marcus had given wedgies to as a child were the leaders of this new and different world. People who could work with computers were valuable these days.

 _And idiots like me who just want to get themselves killed are ten a penny,_ Marcus thought grimly as he walked past another shotgun-toting guard.

 _To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third Chance.

Third Chance.

A Terminator: Salvation fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Two:

 _In which Marcus gets a mission and the New York Resistance get a big, big shock._

Marcus walked with his escort down a corridor, up a flight of concrete stairs, down another corridor, and down two more flights of stairs before they finally arrived at another pair of the ubiquitous steel doors. The metal was stencilled with the red DNA-helix sigil of the Resistance and the enigmatic title of WAR ROOM.

Marcus heard Connor's voice on the opposite side of the door. His enhanced hearing picked up the words easily even through inch-thick steel plate.

" _We can do this_."

" _I appreciate the offer, Commander_ ," retorted a different but equally strident voice. " _But that forest is a death-trap. It'd be a death-trap even if it wasn't crawling with machines. And whatever it is that they've got there, it's not important to keep risking my men's lives. Or yours, come to that._ "

" _At least try_."

" _What makes you think that your man'll be any different_?" asked a third voice.

Marcus's escort knocked on the door. The conversation paused and the vault door creaked open. The solider beckoned Marcus through. Marcus ducked his head to avoid the low frame and stepped inside. His escort did not follow.

Inside, the room was small and cramped. Metal shelving stood stacked against one wall; a relic of the basement's pre-war years. Maps and charts were pinned to every available surface. A large oval table took up the centre of the room. The entire New York command sat around it; uniforms studded with a constellation of stars and stripes. Connor stood at the opposite end.

Marcus clasped his hands behind his back. He raised his chin and nodded first at Connor and then at the table. "Commanders," he said politely, but volunteered no more information. This was Connor's show.

The general seated to Connor's right snorted as he introduced himself. Marcus recognized his voice from Connor's earlier conversation. "General Babbage. US Army." He gestured to the rest of the table. "My colleagues," His voice was brusque and his manner peremptory. "What are you, some kind of marine?"

"No," Marcus said.

"He's not a marine." Connor said.

Marcus waited for Connor to explain, but he just nodded and stepped back to allow the table a clear view of Marcus. "Show them." he said.

Marcus hesitated for a second before he unlaced his gloves. He pulled the mittens off and dropped them on the floor. The metal tendons on the back of his left hand were invisible in the dim light. He held both palms up like a conjuror (ladies and gentlemen, please note, there is nothing up my sleeve) then dug the nails of his right hand into the palm of his left. Blood ran down his wrist and dripped in rosettes on the bare concrete floor. Pain stabbed up Marcus's arm as he ripped apart layers of synthetic epidermis, but the sensation faded in a couple of seconds and vanished completely within a few heartbeats. As Marcus dug deeper muscle peeled away and exposed circuitry in stark relief against the metal bones of his hand. The muscle fibres felt stringy and tough under his fingernails, like dried beef jerky.

Marcus worked until he had exposed a piece of alloy the size of a saucer in the centre of his left palm. When he was satisfied that enough metal had been exposed to make his point, he held up his hand and displayed the gory gleam to the watching New York soldiers.

Chaos erupted.

The generals weren't quite as fast as the Resistance grunts would have been but they were fast enough. Within seconds all of the people in the room except Marcus and Connor had their weapons cocked and ready. Marcus raised both his hands in surrender. Connor stood in the corner with a small smile on his face.

"What _is_ he?" Babbage snarled.

The question was directed to Connor, but it was Marcus who answered. "I'm a soldier of the Resistance," he said.

"You're a machine." Babbage snapped. He swivelled around and glared at Connor."You brought a _robot_ in here, Connor?"

"Marcus is the reason we were able to destroy the San Francisco base," Connor said evenly. "He's an infiltration prototype."

"He's a _Terminator_." Babbage shook his head. "I never would have suspected _you_ , Connor. What did Skynet offer you?"

Connor's scowl could have been hacked from a solid block of stone. "Marcus is a Resistance fighter," he said. "Same as us."

Babbage's finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. Marcus could see knuckles whiten all across the room. He sighed and stepped forwards. The Resistance were fast, but human reactions were no match for a mechanised nervous system. It took Marcus a fraction of a second to reach across the table and seize Babbage's gun. He removed the clip from the weapon, tossed the clip on the table, rotated the weapon with inhuman speed and placed it back in the general's grasp before the clip had come to a halt.

"If I wanted to kill you," he said, "I would have done it already."

"And if I didn't trust Marcus, I would never have brought him here." Connor said.

Babbage's expression changed to one of speculative assessment. "Maybe," he said. He gestured to the other soldiers without taking his eyes from Marcus. "Drop your weapons. Do it."

The Resistance complied.

Babbage slid the clip back into his own weapon and replaced it in his belt. "I think you'd better explain why a machine seems to be on our side," he said. "Now."

Marcus did his best to comply. He kept details to a minimum, unwilling to explain more than was absolutely necessary. Connor occasionally interrupted to clarify a point or add detail. Once he unbuttoned his shirt to show the other soldiers the scars where the T-RIP had slammed a metal bar through his chest.

"Why'd you do it?" Babbage asked Marcus much later, when he had finished.

"Salvation." Marcus said quietly.

The old general frowned. "What for?"

"I fucked up. Badly. Ruined my old life. I thought Cyberdyne would be my second chance. Turned out I was wrong. Turned out I helped them, even if I didn't know it." He waved a hand around the bunker. "Turned out I helped Judgement Day happen. I want to make amends."

" _If_ we decide to trust you," one of the other generals said, "how do we know that you won't go straight back to Skynet and tell them everything?"

Marcus turned his head to face the woman. He kept his movements slow and unthreatening. No need to put them on edge, just when they'd finally started to relax. "You don't," he said. "Guess you've just got to believe me."

"Connor trusts him," somebody said. "That's good enough for me."

"If you had anybody else who could survive this mission, then I wouldn't be offering Marcus's services." Connor said.

"You need our permission before you do anything." Babbage pointed out, rather grumpily.

Connor shrugged.

A small woman with the double star insignia of a pre-war major general cleared her throat. "What if it all goes wrong?" she asked. "Is there any way we can stop it?" She paused and looked at Marcus. "Stop _you._ No offence meant."

"None taken," Marcus replied.

Connor nodded. "There was-there _is-_ a signal. A hidden frequency. But it acts as a location beacon that any Terminator can detect." His face was grim. "That's how we lost General Ashdown."

Babbage glanced at the bunker's concrete ceiling. "That sub was hidden beneath several hundred feet of water."

"The aerial was topside." Connor told him. "We should be safe."

"I think we'd all feel better if you agreed to a demonstration." Babbage said. He glanced around at the Resistance. "Agreed, gentlemen?"

There was a chorus of agreement.

Connor glanced at Marcus. Marcus nodded. Connor retrieved a plastic handset from his pocket. "Ready?"

Marcus gritted his teeth. "I'm ready."

The last thing he saw was Connor's finger pressing the control, then blackness. He woke up on the concrete floor seconds later.

"Impressive." Babbage said."Does the signal travel far?"

"Far enough." Connor said. "Marcus?"

Marcus rolled over. "I'm all right." There was a metallic taste in his mouth and his head ached. He crawled to his knees and rubbed at his temples. The pain subsided within a few seconds and he rose to his feet.

Babbage glanced around the room. "I think we've all seen enough," he said. "We'll put it to the vote. Everyone who is in favour, say aye."

There was a chorus of agreement. Babbage smiled. "The 'ayes' have it. This meeting is dismissed."

The soldiers pushed back their chairs and filed out of the room. Connor and Marcus turned to follow as the last man left the room, but the orderly outside blocked them with a raised hand. "I need some more information." Babbage said from behind them. "You stay."

Connor nodded calmly. He took a chair opposite Babbage. Marcus sat down nearby. He heard the shuffling of feet through the metal door as the New York command left the corridors.

Babbage steepled his hands on the table and fixed them both with a gimlet gaze. "One last concern. I'll find somebody to brief both of you before we leave. We don't send anybody-and I mean anybody-on a mission unprepared." He jabbed a finger at Marcus. "But I won't have you mixing with our people. I'll find you somewhere to stay. It won't be for very long. A day, at the most, before you go."

"Okay," said Marcus. "But I want to say goodbye to Blair."

The general frowned. "Blair?"

"Blair Williams." Connor said. He leaned over and whispered in the General's ear. Babbage's eyes narrowed and then widened. "You - _oh_. Well, of course. That can be arranged. Under supervision, naturally."

Marcus saluted. "Sir."

Babbage frowned at the sloppy gesture. "You weren't military, were you? Before Judgement Day?"

Marcus frowned. "The Army didn't take crims back then."

"We did," Babbage corrected. "Of course, that depended on what you were in for. Now, we take everyone."

"You didn't take murderers." Marcus said.

The general looked surprised.

"I said we were _mostly_ military," Connor said hastily, as if continuing a previous conversation he'd had with the general "Mostly. Not all. I'm not. But Barnes is; you've met him. Williams and Reece, they're not either."

"Recruiting from the military has certain advantages," the old general said drily. "Soldiers tend to go where they're told, and stay where they're put. Civilians tend to make things messy." He sighed. "Wish you were ex-forces. Both of you. It'd make my life easier."

"I'm hardly a civilian." Connor said.

Babbage frowned. "I don't know _what_ you are, Connor. You and your men, you'll follow my orders as long as I don't tell you to do something you don't like."

Connor smiled. He glanced at the digital clock on one wall and pulled his medication from the breast pocket of his jacket. "Then I've got a simple solution for you."

"What?"

"Don't tell me to do things I don't like without a damn good reason." Connor said around a mouthful of pills.

Babbage laughed. He turned to Marcus. "So, how about you? Will you do what I tell you?"

Marcus shrugged. "I'll do what _Connor_ tells me to. And he told me you need some computer program. That I've got to save some men."

"Yes." Babbage nodded. "The Blue Ridge programmers. Back when we still had contact with them we set it up that we'd exchange their software for asylum. Thought we might get them out. But things have changed."

"How?" Marcus asked.

"They've gotten worse."

"How worse?" Connor asked dangerously.

"Much worse." Babbage said bleakly. "They're in the middle of nowhere, and the whole area is crawling with machines. One man might be able to get in, with the luck of the devil." He glanced at the shards of metal visible in the shreds of Marcus's torn glove. "A man of your talents might even be able to leave. But there is no way in hell anybody else will survive. I've tried it. Hell, I've sent men. Good men. So get the program, get out, and don't even try to bring them back with you."

"You'll leave them to die." Connor said coldly.

Babbage looked insulted. "There's no choice."

"I'll get your program." Marcus said. "If I can save the men as well, that's a bonus."

Babbage tapped his fingers on the table. "You've got a soft heart for a machine."

"I'll get it." Marcus repeated. "But how I get it is up to me."

"If you don't do it my way, you won't do it at all." Babbage said. He looked resigned.

"I'll try."

"Then do. And I hope to God it works." Babbage said. He stood up and limped to the door. "This way, please."

He returned Marcus to his escort. The soldier showed Marcus to another underground room, and then he locked him in.

Marcus had expected to enjoy the solitude. Instead, it unnerved him. He hadn't realized how much his short stay in the base had accustomed him to human contact. There were a couple of guards outside the cell. Babbage had emphasized that they were there for Marcus's own protection. But they didn't try to talk to Marcus, and Marcus didn't try to talk to them.

It seemed like a long time before the door to the cell opened and Blair slipped inside. The fluorescent light glinted from her leather jacket and set off the strip of dye streaked across her eyes.

"I always wondered," he said as she opened the door, "why you wore the makeup."

Blair looked startled. "Makeup? Nobody wears makeup anym-" She paused and touched the band of colour. "You mean this?"

Marcus nodded.

"Warpaint," Blair said succinctly.

"Who're you fighting?"

Blair grinned. "Everybody who thinks you're a robot, not a person."

"You must be busy."

Blair just shrugged. She glanced around the dingy room and changed the subject. "They should at least have put you somewhere nicer."

"I don't need somewhere nicer." Marcus said. It was true that the only piece of furniture in the storeroom was a chair and that the floor was bare concrete, but it was no worse than most of the base dorms. "Did Connor tell you about the mission?" He made room on the chair for Blair, and she sat down beside him. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but the warmth of her body against his more than made up for it.

Blair nodded. "He asked me before you left," she explained. "I told him I just wanted you back in one piece. We're all soldiers, Marcus. We do what we have to." She ran a finger down his arm. "But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun between blowing up as many of the bastards as we can find." She leaned closer to kiss him, closing her eyes. The spiky black fans of her eyelashes blended with her face paint.

After they were finished she said "Don't get yourself killed."

"That's up to the Terminators."Marcus said.

Blair gave him a long look. "It's up to you as well. Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't." Marcus promised, and thought that he meant it.

Blair kissed him again. "Take care of yourself, you hear?" she said, and slipped out the door as quietly as she had entered.

The guards came to fetch Marcus not long after.

The flight to North Carolina was only slightly more interesting than his cell. There were no windows in the helicopter. It was a bumpy ride. The 'copter rose and dropped abruptly every so often as it jinked to avoid enemies that Marcus could not see. They landed only after a long and unexplained detour. The doors slid open to reveal the cracked tarmac of an ancient parking lot, and Marcus was left (he tried not to think of it as abandoned) with a plastic coated map and a brusque "See you in a few days."

He stood in the sun and watched the rising bubble of the helicopter blink in the sun as it flew off into the mist. When the 'copter was out of sight Marcus walked out onto the road, where he drew a battery-operated radio from his pack, placed it on the blacktop and settled down to wait.

The Moto-Terminator arrived in about fifteen minutes. As it slowed to investigate the source of the music, it slammed into the thin steel cable Marcus had stretched between two trees. The bike skidded into a thick tree trunk with a shower of sparks that sizzled in the damp undergrowth. Marcus leapt on it and held it down with all his strength while he fumbled for the jack. The Moto-Terminator bucked like a mule and Marcus had a few nasty seconds before the data stick Babbage had given him slid home and the bike whined its way into quiescence.

Marcus let go of the Terminator and checked it over. Despite the sparks, the bike seemed relatively unscathed by its collision with the tree. He collected his pack and straddled the bike. Once aboard, he reached down to press a button on the USB port. The drive uploaded a copy of his directions directly into the bike's machine cortex. The Moto-Terminator hummed to life, and Marcus sped off.

He missed the Midwest's straight roads immediately.

The Carolina roads were narrow and they twisted and turned like a snake's backbone. The Moto-Terminator bounced over cracked tarmac and tree roots, but the tires absorbed the impact and the bike kept on its course. By Marcus's reckoning he had travelled sixty kilometres before the road petered out in a tangle of kudzu.

The bike was moving fast enough that Marcus had only seconds to react. He instinctively jammed his foot down on a brake pedal that wasn't there. The Moto-Terminator raced towards the vines until Marcus remembered the USB stick. He reached down and pulled it out. The bike's brakes automatically locked. It spun to a halt in a cloud of burning rubber, the front wheel a hand's breadth from the vegetation. Marcus slipped the USB stick into his pocket. He produced a screwdriver from his rucksack, leaned down and jammed the shaft into the USB slot. The tool would keep the Moto-Terminator quiet until he returned.

 _If I return._

Marcus dropped to the bike to the floor as the machine's exhaust dispersed. He took a deep breath of fresh air. The contrast with New York's sooty smog was overwhelming. The mountain air was cool and moist. It smelt of chlorophyll and mould and winter rain and a thousand other smells Marcus probably could have analysed if he'd wanted to, one molecule at a time. It smelt alive.

He shouldered his rucksack, checked his map, and walked into the trees.

Marcus discovered immediately that walking through an old-growth forest was much more difficult that crossing a desert. In summer, it would have been impossible. Even in winter, his feet slipped on moss-caked roots and his leather jacket snagged on thorns. It was too cold for mosquitoes, and Marcus wasn't sure if what passed for his blood these days would be appetising to them, but he was thankful for their absence. Dead branches crumpled beneath his feet as he checked his compass and moved on.

He saw no machines.

When it got too dark to travel Marcus followed his map to the wreckage of a cabin where he holed up for the night. The hunter-killers' thermal imaging worked more effectively at night-time. Even though Marcus's own vision was much improved these days, he took no chances. The cabin looked like it had once been somebody's summer retreat. It had one room and only three remaining walls. The corner of a rusting refrigerator protruded from the wreckage. It was too far gone to stink, but Marcus left it alone. He unrolled his sleeping mat next to the rotting stumps of a kitchen table and slept for a while.

When he woke in the morning the sky was smoke-grey and cold as ice. Rain pattered down among the trees. Drops of water pearled on Marcus's jacket as he left the shack. A trail headed in the right direction, and he followed it.

He had been walking for about an hour when he noticed a movement further ahead on the trail. He froze, motionless. A trickle of water ran inside his jacket and dripped down his neck. Marcus didn't move.

Upwind, a doe sniffed the air. Finding nothing amiss, she stepped out onto the trail. A pair of tiny fawns quick-stepped around her hooves. Rain glistened on their coats. The grey sunlight shone wanly through the tissue paper of their ears.

Marcus held his breath.

The deer jumped off the trail into the thick underbrush, and they disappeared. The sight encouraged Marcus. A single man's heat signature would be hard to distinguish from the thermal radiation emitted by large animals. He glimpsed a stag before he had walked another kilometre. This one did not move. It gazed at Marcus incuriously as he passed. He ignored it.

There seemed to be a lot more wildlife these days. Terminators didn't bother killing deer the way they did humans, and they didn't have to eat. There weren't enough humans left to make the wildlife wary, except around Resistance bases. One of the things Marcus had learned over the last month was that you could tell when there was a camp around by how nervous the game were.

 _I've got a long way to go_ , he thought.

He checked his map to confirm his suspicions. It was nearly a hundred kilometres to his destination. The trek would have taken a human marine four days. Marcus hoped to do it in two.

He had travelled fifteen kilometres when he reached the river.

The river was marked with a thin blue line on Marcus's map. Close up, it was nearly a quarter-k wide, wider if you counted the marshes on each bank. Marcus paused on the bank to check his map and his boots sank inch-deep in swamp mud. The map only confirmed what he already knew. The camp was on the other side.

He waited for a while, but nothing happened. The only ripples that marked the river's surface were those of raindrops. It seemed that the stream contained nothing more threatening than trout.

Marcus hoisted his pack above his head and waded into the water. The soft mud under his feet gave way to pebbles as he got deeper. The water was cold at first, but Marcus acclimatised quickly. He expected to swim the centre, but the river stayed shallow. Waves lapped at his chest. He was about three quarters of the way across before something brushed his leg.

At first, Marcus didn't think too much of it. The movement was too fleeting for him to learn much from the contact. The second touch, a heartbeat later, was less tentative.

The third stroke sliced his leg open.

Marcus instinctively dropped his pack. He ducked under the surface and spread his arms wide; searching for the Hydrobot that he knew lurked in the depths. Chill river water rushed over his cropped scalp. His left hand touched something tubular that whisked away as soon as his fingers found it. He came up for air and tried again. This time his hand closed on a slick, jagged spine. He held the Hydrobot at arm's length and worked his left hand down the body of the machine until he felt the tail taper down to a vicious spike. Ducking deeper, he brought his boot down hard on the point where the Hydrobot's body met its spiked tail. The spike snapped cleanly off and sank to the bottom.

The Hydrobot thrashed wildly. It jack-knifed, arching its entire body, and cracked like a whip. Its truncated tail hit Marcus in the belly. He folded and fell backwards, gasping for air in a cloud of bubbles. He expected to hit the hard rocks of the riverbed, but fell instead against the soft shape of his pack. The Hydrobot's serrated spine drew blood from Marcus's hands, but he did not let go. The pack gave his a sure footing. He pushed upwards, and his head broke the surface of the water.

Marcus gasped for air. Droplets of murky river water sprayed from his mouth. He groped with one foot, felt the soft outline of his pack and jammed his leg through its straps of the pack so he didn't lose it again.

The Hydrobot lunged out of the water, showering Marcus with spray. Its metal mouthparts missed Marcus by inches. He dodged, groping desperately in his jacket for something he could use to kill it. He found nothing, and swore.

 _Shit._

Taking a deep breath, he and submerged himself for the second time, dragging the Hydrobot under with him. He reached towards the riverbed, hoping for a heavy stone he could use as a bludgeon. His hand closed on water. The Hydrobot twisted in Marcus's hand and sank its mandibles into his arm.

Marcus gritted his teeth. The 'bot worried his sleeve like a dog. He reached out for a second time. This time his knuckles grazed against a rock. Marcus grabbed the stone and pounded into the head of the Hydrobot, over and over again. When there was no trace of movement left in the lithe body he let the rock drop from his fingers and released the machine. It slid out of his hands and sank in a trail of bubbles.

Marcus took a long, shuddering breath. He hooked his pack up with the toe of his boot and lifted it out of the water again. His hands left bloody prints on the canvas. The bag was soaking wet and much heavier than it had been. Marcus threw it on his shoulder and crossed the river. He slogged through the marshes and up onto the other bank, where he collapsed onto his ass in a pile of weeds. After a while he rolled over and began to sort through his kit. The bag was supposed to be waterproof, but everything in it was soaked. Marcus picked up his gun and watched as water dripped out of it.

 _I'll be fine_ , he thought, _just as long as I don't find any more machines_.

He was less than a hundred yards away from the river when the first aerostat showed up.

The next eighty klicks were a nightmare.

 _To be continued..._


	3. Third Chance Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third Chance.

Third Chance.

A Terminator: Salvation fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Three:

 _In which Marcus escapes the Terminators and finds the object of his mission..._

Three days later Marcus crouched in the shadow of a fallen oak with a knife in his hand and listened to bullets ripping through the underbrush around him. He thought he was somewhere in the vicinity of the camp, but he couldn't be sure. He knew that a T-600 had followed him.

The Terminator's gun stuttered into silence. Marcus waited for a few minutes before he cautiously raised his head. The grim grinning skull of the T-600 was only metres away. Marcus ducked quickly back into shelter. He knew it hadn't seen him. He was still alive, after all.

Marcus flattened himself against the tree trunk. He held his breath as the T-600 passed, closely enough that he could have reached out and wiped dew from its shining metal exoskeleton. Dead branches crumpled into powder under its feet. Its cybernetics whined.

Marcus leapt from the tree trunk onto the Terminator's shoulders and locked one arm around the T-600's neck. He used the tip of his knife to lever the metal plate from the back of its skull. The movement activated one of the machine's defence protocols. It spun in circles as it attempted to dislodge Marcus, firing the vulcan cannon mounted in its arm wildly into the underbrush. As long as Marcus did not move, the Terminator couldn't bring the cannon to bear on him.

Marcus twisted the knife. The Terminator lurched sideways and the knifepoint scored a white trail across its metal housing.

"Stay still." Marcus cursed.

The Terminator jolted backwards and slammed Marcus against a tree. The blow would have crushed a human's ribs. It had little effect upon Marcus. The T-600 noticed this. It altered its strategy. With a complete disregard for self-preservation, it raised its right arm and aimed blindly at its own shoulder. In the split second before the T-600 fired, Marcus jammed his knife into the Terminator's shoulder joint. The shot went wild. Marcus slashed through cable and mesh and the Terminator's right arm fell away.

He brought the knife up for another try at the sweet spot at the back of the T-600's skull.

The T-600 locked its left hand behind Marcus's knee and ripped him from its back. His knife went flying as the T-600 threw him to the ground.

Marcus hit hard but he recovered quickly. He rose for a crouch and waited for the T-600's next move. The machine paused for a few seconds, as if considering its options. Its red eyes gleamed and it lurched towards Marcus.

He saw a stealthy movement behind the machine.

A little girl crouched in the vegetation behind a pair of slim birch trees. She looked about nine or ten years old. She examined the ground between her feet intently for a moment before she pounced and held up the wicked blade of Marcus's knife.

"Run!" Marcus yelled.

His warning had the opposite effect to what he had intended. The T-600's head snapped around. The child looked up and froze.

"Run!" Marcus shouted again.

The girl bolted.

Like a human, the T-600's vision was keyed to movement. It turned its back on Marcus and spun to follow the girl. Marcus cursed. He raced after the T-600. The robot didn't even bother to look around. It flailed backwards with its remaining arm. Its fist caught Marcus across the cheek and snapped his head around. He dropped to his knees as the T-600 gathered speed. In front of the machine, he glimpsed the kid's brown coat flicking in and out of the trees as she ran for her life.

Marcus dragged himself to his feet and followed the child.

He emerged on a wide track. It was the first sign of habitation Marcus had seen since leaving his camp three days previously. The T-600 was nowhere in sight. The girl raced along the path, head down and arms pumping wildly.

"Stop!" Marcus shouted. "I'm here to help you!"

The girl did not listen. If anything, Marcus's voice seemed to spur her to greater effort. Half way down the path she left the track and sprinted off into the undergrowth. Her route looked like it would intersect with the path up ahead, so Marcus followed the track.

The girl turned her head. "Not that way!" she called as the T-600 lurched out of the bushes just behind Marcus. It was close enough that Marcus could hear its hydraulics creak as it gathered pace. He accelerated, wringing every last drop of adrenaline-fuelled energy from his battered body. The T-600 followed. _It's fast_ , Marcus thought. _I didn't think a T-600 could be so fast._

And then the path dropped away beneath his feet and he stopped thinking at all.

Marcus's momentum was the only thing that saved him. He stretched out his arms instinctively as the earth below him crumbled. His hands dug into the earth at the other side of the pit and he jerked to a halt.

The T-600 wasn't so lucky. Marcus heard a whine as the machine's motors tried and failed to adjust to its change in velocity, followed by and a loud and very final _thud_.

He looked down.

The pit was only about ten feet deep. The T-600 could probably have climbed or dug its way out without too much trouble if there hadn't been stakes wedged in the floor. One of the stakes had neatly severed the Terminator's head from its body. Its fingers twitched spastically but stilled as Marcus watched.

Marcus turned his attention back to the rather more pressing problem of extracting himself from the trap. He raised his head to a level with the top of the pit, only to have the earth beneath him crumble. As he tried a second time, he noticed the little girl peering at him from between the trees.

"Hey!" Marcus roared, then, louder, " _Hey_!"

The girl turned around and fled down the path. Marcus's hands slipped again.

 _Well_ , he thought as he fell back; _the good news is that I know where the camp is_. _The bad news is that it's going to be a bitch to get to._

He dragged himself up to the lip of the pit for a third time, and this time the earth did not crumble away.

Marcus thought about Terminators as he limped towards the base.

 _Yeah. The day they come up with something that looks like a little kid will be the day when we all finally lose it._

He knew that he scared people precisely because he looked so human. But Marcus had seen inside the Skynet, and he knew that it had taken Cyberdyne a good long time to come up with him. He hoped that little-girl-Terminators were a long way down their list.

He caught sight of the roof of a cabin through the trees. There were a few more pits, all obviously marked if you weren't running for your life. Marcus stayed away from them. He kept an eye out for the flat-topped molehills that marked magnetic bombs, but saw none. He climbed a wire-mesh fence edged with razor wire and dropped inside the camp. The camp's original low wooden fence edged the central compound. It was in poor condition. The front gate was an open, ranch-style arch.

 _If this is their security_ , Marcus thought as he approached, _then I'm surprised they're all still here._

He entered the camp through the gate, because it seemed like something a Terminator wouldn't do.

The base seemed deserted.

Marcus explored the buildings. Trees grew through the cabin roofs. Most of the buildings were in poor condition. They sprawled up the slopes of a small hill. The roofs of the cabins at the crest of the hill looked better maintained, so he headed in that direction. A campfire circle had been dug out half way up the hill. It was lined with stone benches. Marcus stopped at the fire-pit and sifted through the ashes. He hoped for clues, or maybe a hint of warmth, but the cinders were cold.

Marcus shivered.

There was something eerie about the deserted camp. It reminded Marcus of exploring abandoned buildings with his brother many years ago. They'd dare each other to jump over gaping holes in the floorboards or creep into blacked out rooms. There was always something spooky about a building that had been abandoned.

As he dug through the embers, he caught the sound of someone breathing.

Marcus tracked the noise to the closed door of a cabin. He picked up a heavy branch before he kicked the door open. Just because the programmers were on the side of the Resistance didn't necessarily mean that they were nice people. Humans could be just as bad as the robots, sometimes. Terminators didn't steal, and they didn't hurt people for the fun of it.

The first room-if a room with half the ceiling strewn across the floor was even still a room- was empty.

A shard of shattered mirror-glass hung on one wall. Marcus checked his reflection as he passed. He looked terrible, but at least he looked human. The kid hadn't run from him because she thought he was a robot.

The next room was larger. It looked like it had been used as a dormitory. A stack of folding bunk beds leaned against one wall. The girl crouched behind the pile. She squealed as Marcus walked in. It was a thin, wavering sound, as if she knew she had to be quiet but she was so damn terrified she couldn't help herself. The hem of her tatty cardigan dragged on the ground. His knife lay at her feet.

Marcus dropped the branch. He crouched down, ducked his head so he looked less of a threat, and stretched out one hand. "Kid?"

The girl whimpered.

"Listen. I need to talk to your mom. Or your dad. Whoever runs this place. It's kind of important."

"Then you can talk to me," a feminine and very cold voice said from behind Marcus. There was a click which Marcus recognized as a gun's safety catch disengaging. He sighed and raised his hands.

"Is that your mom?"

The child nodded.

Marcus spoke to the kid rather than to the woman he couldn't see. "Then you better tell your mom to make you move, 'cause if she shoots me the bullets are going to go right through. And then where're they gonna go?"

"Naomi!" the woman said hurriedly.

"Naomi? That you?"

The kid nodded.

"I think your mom wants you to go over there." Marcus said. The kid nodded again and got up, wiping tears and snot across her face with a dirty hand. She gave Marcus a wide berth.

"Naomi, go find your dad," the woman said. The shotgun barrel wedged against Marcus's skull did not waver.

"But I-"

"Now!"

Marcus heard footsteps running off. He studied the opposite wall and sighed. "Ma'am, I'm not what you think." _And isn't that God's honest truth_ , he thought even as the words left his mouth.

"Don't move," the woman repeated. She sounded a bit more uncertain now that the kid had left the building. Marcus could have disarmed her easily, but he chose not to. He didn't want to start off negotiations by injuring somebody.

"You're the programmers, right?" he asked.

"How'd you know that?"

"I'm from New York." Marcus said.

"Who are you?"

"I'm from the Resistance, ma'am. Put down the gun."

Marcus heard a thud as the shotgun hit the floor. He twisted around. The woman leant forwards and embraced him.

It was the last thing Marcus had expected. He held still, figuring she'd get over it eventually and after a few seconds the woman pulled back. She had long dark hair and an Asian cast to her face. She was also short enough to hug Marcus without too much difficulty despite the fact that he was kneeling down and she was standing. "Thank God! We thought you'd forgotten all about us!"

"Leah?" a worried voice called outside.

The woman took hold of Marcus's hand and pulled him out of the building. "William! William, it's all right!"

A man with concerned eyes and a beard that wouldn't have looked out of place on an eighteenth century fur trapper stood outside the cabin. He carried a shotgun and looked less than delighted to find his wife dragging along a strange man by the arm. "Leah? What's all right?"

"He's from the Resistance! They've come to save us!"

The man's face split into a grin. "I said I said they wouldn't abandon us! We were right!" He hugged the woman. "We were right all along."

"Not exactly," Marcus said.

There was a long silence.

"What do you mean?" William asked cautiously.

Marcus glanced warily around the camp. Its meagre security measures made him nervous. "I'll tell you later," he said. "Can we get inside?"

The couple exchanged glances. Leah nodded. Together they led Marcus to their cabin. The building occupied a vantage point at the summit of the hill. The programmers had reinforced its roof with concrete and dug cellars into the earth below. A clutch of chickens scratched in the soil outside, and a goat tied to a picket bleated mournfully at Marcus as he walked past.

William interpreted Marcus's silence as contempt. "We use most of our electricity for the computers," he said as he gestured for Marcus to precede him through the door.

The interior of the cabin was a little homelier. Layers of rag rugs covered the floor and blankets had been nailed over the wooden walls for insulation. Naomi looked up from the sofa as Leah raised the lid of a pot that hung over the fire. She pushed her hair back behind her ears. "You hungry?"

Marcus nodded.

Leah ladled some stew into a bowl. "Eat. We've got time. William will go get the others. We ca talk once you've finished." She set the bowl and a spoon down in front of Marcus.

William nodded and vanished out the door.

Marcus dug in. The food was good, better than anything he'd eaten in New York. Marcus finished his plate, but he refused another bowl. These people hadn't got much.

"How've you survived for so long?" he asked as he pushed the bowl away.

Leah drew back a curtain. "See for yourself," she said and pointed out through the grimy glass. "We haven't."

Marcus blinked. He'd noticed the avenue of tall stones set to one side of the path as he had followed the couple in. What he'd taken for decoration was a graveyard. He counted fifteen headstones before Leah dropped the curtain. She sat down across the table from Marcus and rolled up the sleeves of her woollen sweater. "We came up here after Judgement Day," she said. "There was a bunch of us. We all worked at Cisco Systems in Raleigh. We were working when it happened. As soon as we realized, we filled the car up with equipment from the labs and just left. Wasn't a thing left for us there." She glanced around the dingy cabin. "I used to come to this camp when I was a kid. It's changed since then. But it's home."

"It's good enough," Marcus said. "Seems pretty cosy to me. But you need better security. I walked right in here."

"Did you?" Leah said. She seemed amused. "Did you really?"

"Had a bit of pit trouble." Marcus admitted.

Leah's smile broadened. "I'll bet." She seemed about to add more, but they were interrupted by William's entrance.

"Everyone, this is Marcus," William said by way of introduction as he kicked mud from his boots."Marcus, this is everyone."

Everyone turned out to be a scruffy man a few years older than Marcus. He took a seat next to Leah and stared at Marcus with the suspicious eyes of a survivor.

"This is it?" Marcus said. "Four of you?"

William cleared his throat. "Five." He stabbed a finger at his chest. "But Ada's working. Anyway, let me introduce ourselves. My name is William Pallot. This lovely lady is Leah Nakatomi, and on the couch over there is our daughter Naomi. Our newcomer is Gabe, and Ada is in the lab. You'll meet her later."

"Did you tell her?" asked Leah. "This is kind of important."

"Sure." Gabe said. "But she says she's busy. I'll fill her in later." He leaned back in his chair and studied Marcus. "So. What's your story?"

"My name is Marcus Wright." Marcus said. "I'm from the Resistance. They sent me to fetch your program." He looked from one face to another and wished he was a better diplomat. "They said you can reprogram Terminators."

The programmers looked at each other and smiled.

"Did I say something funny?"

"No." Leah shook her head, "I'm sorry. But you made it sound so _easy_."

William stifled a grin. "No," he said. "We can't. I'm sorry if you've come all this way for nothing."

"So that's it?" Marcus asked.

"Not entirely. What we _have_ discovered is a subroutine in the machines' programming that allows them to act independently of the central Skynet facilities for a short time. Given enough time and resources, we should be able to take advantage of this. Add some code that would make them behave completely autonomously. And yes, one day, even reprogram them. But that's some way in the future."

Marcus remembered Connor's little speech back in New York. _There's a bunch of programmers holed up in a camp in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Intel says they've developed a script that'll allow us to interact with the system more effectively. Maybe even reprogram Terminators._

He sighed. Sometimes he thought that Connor assumed just because he _was_ a machine that he understood them. "I guess Connor told me something like that."

"You're with Connor?" William asked cautiously.

"I'm with Connor," Marcus said.

" _John_ Connor?"

The adoration that filled the programmers' eyes made Marcus profoundly uncomfortable. "Yeah, John Connor," he said roughly.

"He's the only hope we have." Leah replied. The quote came straight from one of Connor's broadcasts.

"If you want hope, stay here." Marcus said. "You seem pretty secure."

"What we have here is an illusion!" Leah retorted. "They could come at any minute."

"The only reason we've survived this long is because we haven't given any reason for them to come after us," said William.

"Yet." Gabe said pointedly.

Marcus looked at his ragged clothes. "Guess that's changed."

"Guess it has." Gabe replied.

"We're dead if you leave us here. Did they tell you they said they'd help us escape?" said Leah.

"They said they'd send aid in exchange for your program." Marcus said. "But things have changed. It's dangerous out there."

"Tell us something we don't know!"

Marcus cursed. It would have been easier to lie, to promise them something the Resistance had no intention of delivering, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. "You don't understand. I can't guarantee your safety."

"Is that a threat?" William said softly.

"It's a fact." Marcus said. "It's death out there. You'll never make it. But the Resistance needs that program. It could save lives."

Leah's set her jaw. "Including ours, if you help us escape." Her face was stony, but her voice was pleading. "You _have_ to save us."

"You'll die."

"We're aware there's some risk involved-"

"It's suicide." Marcus snapped. He pointed to Naomi, desperately thinking of something, anything, to convince them to stay. 'What about your kids? You've got a good life-"

"Have you got a family?" Leah demanded. "Have you got children?"

Marcus sighed. "Kids? No."

"Then maybe you won't understand that I want my daughter to have a real life. A free life, even if it's short. We're not fools here. We know what you do, where you live. We even know it's dangerous. But there used to be thirty people living here." She looked around the room. "Now there's just us. We can't just sit around and pretend everything's okay."

"You'll die out there." Marcus said.

"We'll die in here." Leah said angrily.

Gabe slouched back in his chair. "You didn't die," he pointed out.

"I'm different." Marcus said. _And you don't want to know how different_ , he thought to himself.

"Maybe we _will_ die," William said. "But at least we will have lived,"

The sentence sounded like a quote to Marcus, but he couldn't place it. "That's crazy." He looked around the table. "You're crazy. I'll take you if you insist, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"We can be ready to leave by tomorrow morning." Leah said. "You'll take us all the way to New York?"

"A 'copter'll collect us." Marcus told her. "They won't like it, though. There's a lot of machines round here. Makes it dangerous."

"But they'll come?" Gabe asked.

"They'll come."

"We'll be ready by eight o' clock." Leah said. "You can stay here for the night."

Marcus shook his head. "No. Later. Make it ten. That'll give them enough time for the mist to clear."

"I'll go tell Ada," Gabe said, and left. Naomi went with him but she reappeared in the doorway after a few minutes, clutching Marcus's knife. She placed the weapon on the table in front of Marcus with a certain air of ceremony.

Marcus accepted the weapon gravely. "Thanks." He checked the blade and slid it into its scabbard.

Naomi jammed a thumb into her mouth and resumed her place on the rug near the fire.

"Where do the others live?" Marcus asked her.

Naomi walked to the window and pushed back the curtain. She pointed at a shingled roof just visible behind the graveyard. "There."

"Mind if I go see them?"

Naomi shook her head.

It was cold outside, but it had stopped raining. The trees rustled in the wind around Marcus as he walked to the cabin Naomi had pointed out. He rapped politely on the door. Somebody grunted "Come in."

Marcus pressed the latch down and entered. The room inside was exactly how he had expected a programmer's hideout to look like. It was like the New York base turned up to eleven. Candles, keyboards and monitor screens decorated every available surface. A thin girl with shiny dark hair pulled back in a bun sat at one computer. She did not turn around.

"Where's Gabe?" Marcus asked.

"Out," the girl said without looking around."You must be Marcus."

Marcus nodded. When she didn't reply he realized that she hadn't seen the gesture. "You're Ada, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Do you want to leave too?"

Ada nodded. "Yeah." She spun around and glanced curiously at Marcus before returning to her computer. Marcus looked away quickly as he caught a glimpse of green code on its screen. .

"Okay," he said. "I'll let myself out. Just checking."

"Do you know anything about computers?" Ada asked him.

"Not a clue." Marcus said. If she'd been Blair or Kate he'd have made some comment about how as being human didn't automatically make you good at medicine, so being a machine didn't automatically make you good at fixing them. As she was neither, he kept his mouth shut.

Ada spun around again. She fixed Marcus with a pair of bird-black eyes. "Gabe said you're from the Resistance. That you're here to help us."

Marcus shrugged. "Seems that way."

"You'll do it?"

"I'll try."

Ada smiled and turned back to her work. "Good."

Marcus waited for a few minutes before he realized that she considered their conversation over. It didn't even occur to him to be insulted. Ada seemed so far detached from reality she appeared less human than Marcus himself.

 _But I don't have the luxury of being the genuine article_ , he thought as he closed the door behind her. _She doesn't have to pretend_.

He walked back to Leah and William's cabin and stayed until sunset. Leah offered a bed on the couch, but Marcus borrowed a blanket and moved outside for the night. He spread the blanket on the bare boards of the cabin's porch. The stars were incredibly vivid, as if somebody had spilled a jar of sugar over the sky.

After a while the door behind him creaked open. Marcus had expected one of the adults, but instead it was Naomi. She sat down beside Marcus without once looking at his face and regarded the stars with the absurd gravity of all small children.

"You're not sleepy?" she asked.

Marcus shook his head.

"Me neither," Naomi said cheerfully. "Did they teach you that in commando training?"

"Did they teach me what?" Marcus said, confused.

"How to do without sleep."

"Who told you I was a commando?"

"Mom and Dad. They said you'd had to be, to get in here."

Marcus sighed. "Well, I hate to break it to ya, kid, but you shouldn't believe everything your parents tell you."

Naomi turned her head. "Are we going to die?"

"Nah." Marcus lied. He was so desperate to change the subject; he said the first thing that came into his mouth. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?" Naomi asked curiously.

"Kid I once knew. Except she doesn't talk."

"Why not?"

Marcus thought of Star. "I don't know."

"Then why-"

The door opened behind them. Leah popped her head out. "Naomi!" She glanced around a little desperately before her gaze finally alighted on her daughter. "Naomi. Thank God! Stop bothering Marcus."

"It's all right." Marcus said.

"She should be in bed." Leah held the door open and beckoned to her daughter. "Go on now. We'll be busy tomorrow."

Naomi returned reluctantly to the warm darkness of the cabin. Marcus expected Leah to follow her daughter inside, but she lingered, saying to Marcus, "Come inside. It's cold out here."

"No, thanks."

Leah closed the door behind her. She leant against the wood, folded her arms and looked up at the stars. "I suppose it _is_ a lovely night."

"Yeah." Marcus replied.

Leah hesitated. She twisted the hem of her cardigan into knots as she waited. After a while Marcus said, "If you've got something to say, just say it."

"I wanted to thank you for saving Naomi." Leah said.

Marcus shrugged. "Turns out she didn't need it." He twisted around and glanced up at Leah. "You waited all that time just to say thanks?"

Leah shook her head. She crouched down on the floor next to Marcus. Her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "I need to ask you a favour."

"Ask."

Leah lowered her voice. "I need you to promise you'll look after Naomi. Just in case something happens to me and William. Promise me you'll protect her?"

"Yeah...uh, sure, I guess."

Leah sighed as if a weight had been taken from her. "Thank you," she said, fervently.

Marcus turned away from the gratitude in Leah's eyes. "You know, you could still stay," he said to thin air. "Just because I got in doesn't mean you'll make it out. You don't understand. I'm...different."

"If you got in, we can get out." Leah said quietly. "Either way, we've got to try."

Marcus shrugged. "It's your choice."

"Then we'll leave tommorrow morning." Leah said, "Come inside."

Marcus shook his head.

" _Please_ come inside."

"I'm fine in here."

Leah sighed as she closed the door behind her.

Marcus gazed up at the cold fire of the stars and wondered if he'd made the right decision. He still hadn't decided by the time he fell asleep.

 _To be continued..._


	4. Third Chance Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third Chance.

Third Chance.

A Terminator: Salvation fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter Four:

 _In which Marcus tries to save both his mission and the civilians, and everything goes to hell..._

Marcus woke to find Naomi dangling a spider over his open mouth. "You were asleep," she said as soon as he opened his eyes. He couldn't tell if it was an excuse or an apology, but she sounded disappointed.

"Don't you get cold at all?"

"Nope."

Naomi hugged her knees. "That must be great."

"Breakfast," William shouted from inside.

Marcus skipped breakfast while he plotted out the route to the nearest of the drop zones. It wasn't far, but he doubted it would be easy. He told Leah and William, and they both nodded.

Naomi seemed to have exorcised her shyness. "Why didn't they drop you closer?"

Marcus shrugged. "There's more Skynet activity. Too dangerous."

"But they'll come to pick us up?" Leah asked.

"They'll just have to manage," Marcus said briefly. He looked at the bags and boxes of food piled neatly on the floor. "Leave all this stuff. It'll just slow you down."

"But-"

"If we're not at the 'copter in a few hours, then it won't help you. I'll go call them now."

"Where're you off to?" Naomi called as he left.

Marcus forced a smile. "I'm going to radio your flight."

"I'll come with you." Naomi said instantly. Marcus shook his head. "You've got to stay," he told her. "Help your mom pack."

"But you just said that we didn't need to..."

Leah interrupted. "Naomi, I need you here."

"But-"

"No buts. Help me, please. We've got one hour before we leave." Leah told her daughter. She nodded at Marcus. "Go call your ship."

Marcus nodded in return. Thankful for the interruption, he left the cabin and walked down the hill into the abandoned cabins. When he was satisfied that he was out of sight, he sat down on a treestump and touched the tiny button buried in the mastoid process behind his right ear.

"New York, this is Wright. Do you copy?"

He heard white noise for a few minutes, then " _Copy_."

"I need a pickup." Marcus said into thin air.

" _Affirmative_ ," the voice in his head said, " _Site_?"

"Site C."

" _I hear site C. Confirm_?"

"Confirm." Marcus told it. "I have the package. I have five civilians. They're going to need a ride. Probable ETA is three hours. Do you copy?"

There was a long silence; which left Marcus plenty of time to wonder just how badly the New York Resistance wanted the program. Then he heard a hiss of static followed by " _Roger. New York out_ ," and then the voice disappeared.

Marcus trudged back up the hill. To his surprise, the programmers were nearly ready. Ada sat on a black backpack outside Leah and William's cabin, watching as Leah and Naomi removed the collar from the goat. It gazed at them with a confused expression and wandered hopefully over to Ada, who scratched it between its horns.

"Why doesn't she run away?" asked Naomi.

Leah pushed back her hair. "She doesn't want to. Hasn't known anything else, I guess. She'll wander off eventually. Skynet doesn't care about animals. Just us."

Naomi glanced warily into the trees. Her lips compressed into a thin line.

At ten o'clock precisely Gabe and William walked up the path from the computer cabin and joined the party. They each carried a small pack. "Let's go," William said.

"You got the program?"

William and Gabe exchanged glances. William delved into one pocket and held up a data stick which looked like it had seen better days. "This is it."

"Right." Marcus said. He held out his palm. "Hand it over."

Nobody moved.

Marcus sighed. "Look," he said. "Just give it me. We don't have much time. We need to leave. We need to leave _now_."

He glanced from face to stony face.

"They think you'll take it and leave us," Ada said from behind the men, as dispassionately as if she had absolutely no stake in the matter.

"I promise I won't." Marcus said. "Look. You've listened to the broadcasts. You know I work for Connor. Do you really think a man like that would leave even one person to die if he could save them?"

It was a good argument, but Marcus didn't expect it to work. He was pleasantly surprised when William took a deep breath and handed him the stick. Marcus slipped it into his jacket and zipped up the pocket. "Right," he said. "We move out."

Everybody gathered up their kit.

"You just _say_ you work for Connor," Ada said under her breath as she brushed past Marcus. Her voice was low enough that nobody else heard her vote of no confidence. Marcus ignored her. He led the small party up the hill. William shook his head when Marcus directed them down into the forest on the other side. "Pits that way," he said laconically. "We'll loop around."

Marcus handed William the map. He fell back slightly as William led them into the woods to the east.

"Do you have any more weapons?" Gabe asked him quietly as they ducked under low-hanging tree branches.

Marcus drew back the lapel of his coat to reveal his gun. "This. And a knife."

"Right." Gabe said. He pulled a grenade from his jacket. "Then you probably have should have this."

The grenade looked like an ancient, rusted potato. Marcus took it gingerly from Gabe. "Thanks."

"It should work," Gabe said eagerly."We found a batch in my great-uncle's cabin. Used them to take out a T-600. Most of them did fine. I mean, I hope you don't need it, but...well."

Marcus wedged the grenade in his trouser pocket. Gabe fell back to walk with Ada. Marcus was unsure whether he'd dropped back out of companionship or unwillingness to be in close proximity to unexploded munitions.

He walked on alone. The grenade thudded against his thigh. When the trail widened he mentally checked their direction (correct) and went up ahead to speak to William. There was a small river not far away, and Marcus wanted them all together when they reached the banks.

"You okay?"' he asked as he approached William.

Williams smiled wanly. "Not even close." He glanced around. Marcus pointed to the north to indicate their direction and William set off again with more confidence. "You probably do this all the time."

"Not exactly."

"It'll be worth it, to meet Connor." William said. "Even if some of us don't make it."

"Are you crazy?"

"He gave us hope." William said simply. "I'd die for him."

"Hope's not worth that much."

"You would, too. I can see it in your eyes."

 _Don't look too deep_ , Marcus thought, _you might find something you wouldn't like._ He grunted noncommittally in reply.

William shrugged. Neither man said anything more. Marcus scanned the path ahead, checking for movement, but the woods stayed quiet. He heard the sound of running water long before they reached the stream.

The river was narrow compared to the one Marcus had crossed earlier. There was even a fallen tree that formed a natural bridge over most of its width. The tree's bare branches petered out a metre from the bank.

Marcus gathered the programmers on the riverbank. "There's Hydrobots in the rivers," he told them. "Be careful. Cross fast."

The group nodded with varying degrees of confidence. Marcus looked at each of them, wondering who to send first. William volunteered, "I'll go."

He walked to the edge of the river and jumped onto the tree. The slim trunk bowed beneath his weight, but it held. Everybody held their breath as he walked across and jumped down into reeds that fringed the opposite shore. He shouted. "All clear! I think it's safe!"

Leah pushed Naomi forwards. She stretched out her arm and pointed at William across the water. "Go get him."

Naomi ran across the tree without a thought. A shower of dead pine needles rained down into the water beneath her agile feet. William caught her as she jumped into the reeds and kissed her on the head.

Marcus gestured at Leah. "You go next."

Leah checked the straps of her rucksack and stepped onto the log. She started out slowly but gained confidence with each step. When she reached the centre of the tree she paused and looked down into the murky water.

Marcus noticed her hesitation. "Keep going!"

Leah took a step forwards. The sleek metal body of a Hydrobot arched from the water behind her and slammed into the tree. Leah toppled into the river. The Hydrobot looped under in a graceful movement. She did not surface. A cloud of dark blood drifted to the surface and floated off downstream.

Naomi screamed. She ran to the edge of the stream, but William grabbed her arm before she even set foot on the log.

"Don't go after her!" Marcus shouted automatically. William shouted "Leah!" Naomi screamed "Mommy!" from the opposite bank, and Ada took a step back into the forest. "I'm going back," she told Marcus

Marcus snapped "Stay here." He ran out on the log, drew his gun and stared down into the depths of the stream. He saw nothing except gouges in the wood where the Hydrobot had attacked the tree. The blood in the water had already been washed away.

"Let me cross!" William shouted.

Marcus looked across to William and Naomi on the right-hand bank. William was knee-deep in the water. He hugged Naomi to his chest. On the left bank, Gabe had hold of Ada's arm. She looked mutinous, but didn't struggle. "Stay where you are! All of you!"

"She's my wife!" William screamed.

"I know!" Marcus shouted back.

"Mommyyyy!" Naomi yelled.

"Keep her quiet! The 'bots'll hear her!" Marcus shouted desperately at William. As the programmer clapped a hand over his daughter's mouth Marcus spun around and glared at Ada and Gabe. "You two! Cross! Now!"

Ada shook her head stubbornly.

Marcus aimed the gun at her. "Cross, or I'll shoot you. If that's what it takes to save the three others, I'll do it."

Ada took one look at Marcus's expression and stepped onto the log. Gabe followed her. When they reached the centre, Marcus walked forwards and splashed down into knee-deep water as soon as they neared the bank. "Carry on," he told them, and turned around to search for Leah.

The attack came from behind. The Hydrobot hit Marcus in the small of his back. The force of the blow drove him forwards onto his hands and knees. If he had been a human, it would have killed him. Instead, as it hit he twisted and fired most of the clip into the Terminator's open mouth. A bullet smashed its optical sensors. The Hydrobot writhed in simulated agony. Disabled but not decommissioned, it snarled and thrashed, beating the shallow water into foam. Marcus backed onto the bank. He kept the gun trained onto the Terminator until he was out of the water, and motioned the others back into the forest. "Let's go!"

"Shouldn't we kill it?" Gabe asked uncertainly.

"With what? I'm nearly out of bullets!"

"Where's Mommy?" Naomi asked.

Marcus turned away. "She's dead."

"It could have just injured her or something-" William said.

"Terminators don't just injure people." Marcus interrupted. "They kill. We carry on."

"I could stay and search for her."

"Then you'd both die."

Naomi clutched at her father's hand. "Don't go!"

"I told you we should go back," Ada said grimly.

Marcus looked her in the eye. "You can't go back. You'll just get killed. And then Leah died for nothing. I told you it was dangerous!"

Ada protested. "I didn't think it'd-"

"Nobody ever thinks they can die." Marcus snapped. "You can and you will if we don't get moving." He glanced at his watch. "That 'copter's our last hope. If we miss the drop, that's it. We're screwed. Now _go_. "

They all stared at him.

Marcus picked up the map. He checked their position and pointed into the trees. "This way."

The programmers followed. They walked reluctantly, but they walked. They were nearly at the drop zone when Ada touched Marcus on the shoulder. "How long?" she asked matter-of-factly, as if she'd forgotten her earlier resolve to return to the camp.

"Nearly there." Marcus told her.

"Will we make it?"

"Honestly?" Marcus shook his head. "I don't know." Despite Leah's death, everything had gone far more smoothly than he had expected. Almost too smoothly, in fact. _And if I was a Terminator_ , he thought, conscious of the irony, _a Skynet Terminator, anyway, I wouldn't waste time chasing us through the woods. I'd wait for the clear ground, shoot down the helicopter. Something like that_.

The thought had hardly left his mind when Naomi punched him in the arm. "One's there!" she hissed. "I saw one!"

"One what?"

"A Terminator!" Naomi hissed, breathless with sheer terror. "It's there!"

Marcus didn't question how she knew. "Get down!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible as he dropped to his belly. The programmers mimicked him.

They were at the head of a large valley. A clearing in the forest was visible on the valley floor a few hudnred metres ahead. From the surrounding terrain, Marcus recognized it as the drop zone. There was no 'copter in sight, but Marcus's augmented vision noted a glint of metal among the bushes. He squinted and made out a pair of silhouettes. "There's two," he whispered. "T-600s."

"What do we do?" William asked.

"Why haven't they picked us up on their sensors?" Gabe queried.

"We're too far away and we're upwind, so they can't hear us. They must've switched off infra-red. Too many animals 'round here. But don't worry, they'll find us as soon as we get near."

There was a worried silence. The wind blew dead leaves in drifts amongst the trees. Marcus touched the button behind his ear. "New York, this is Wright. Do you copy?"

This time the reply came almost immediately. " _Copy_."

"We're at the drop site."

" _Affirmative_ ," the voice in Marcus's head said. " _ETA twenty minutes. Confirm_?"

"There's a problem. There are two T-600s at the drop site. Repeat, there are two T-600s at the drop site. Copy?"

The voice sounded hesitant." _We don't have much firepower_."

Marcus' heart sank. "Why the hell not?" he demanded, conveying as much anger as was possible in a whisper.

" _Five people. Too much weight to pack guns as well. Think you can take'em out before we land_?"

"I hope so," Marcus told it. "You'll find out when you try. Over."

" _Roger. New York out_."

Marcus lowered his hand from his ear. The small group stared at him. "New radio," he told them with a confidence he certainly didn't feel. "New plan. We'll confuse the T-600s. I'll draw their fire while you get aboard, and I'll join you later. You're going to double round into the clearing. The 'copter should meet you there in twenty minutes."

"They'll cut us down!" Gabe hissed "How'll we all make it?"

Marcus glanced up at the waving branches of the trees that hung above their heads. "I'm going to distract them."

"But we-"

"Not you. You go. Go now. And don't come out of the trees until you're sure the 'copter's there,"

The group nodded. William's face was resolute. Ada's stubborn. Gabe looked determined, Naomi as solemn as Star.

"Good luck," Marcus said, and left them to it.

He crawled through the undergrowth in the opposite direction. When he judged that he had moved far enough he touched his lighter to the grass. Despite the breeze, it took considerably more effort than he'd anticipated, and the twenty minutes was half-over by the time Marcus had kindled enough of a blaze. The grass didn't light easily but it smouldered well, and it produced a lot of smoke. It crackled down the valley, moving as fast as a walking man.

Marcus skirted around the blaze. There was no sign of the programmers. He crouched in the brush and watched the first T-600 turn away from the drop site to investigate the fire. As the flames grew, the other Terminator followed. Marcus lay motionless in the grass while burning leaves floated over his head. The smoke thickened. When both T-600s had moved within fifty metres, he pulled the hand grenade from his pocket, removed the pin and tossed the grenade towards the Terminators.

He heard the thunk as the grenade hit the ground. It didn't blow.

Marcus erred on the side of caution and counted twenty seconds before he cautiously raised his head.

A Terminator loomed over him. Its red eyes glowed in the smoke.

He heard the _thwap-thwap_ of a helicopter's blades.

As the Terminator's head swivelled towards the sound the fire reached the hand-grenade, which exploded.

Marcus regained consciousness ten seconds later. It had been an incredibly eventful ten seconds. Grass tickled his cheek. He smelt smoke and heard a roaring sound in his ears that coalesced into the hum of a 'copter engine. The force of the grenade's explosion had blown him into the clearing.

He dragged himself to his feet.

The first thing he saw was a truncated pair of legs. The first T-600 had caught the full force of the blast. Its torso was nowhere to be seen. Sparks showered from the stump of its spine.

Marcus looked around.

The small movement saved him. The second T-600's punch landed on his shoulder, rather than on the nape of his neck as the machine had intended. The force of the blow would have snapped even an augmented spine. He took advantage of its slow reaction time to punch it back. As a gesture of defiance, the blow did some good, but it did little damage. Marcus might as well have spat in the T-600's face.

The T-600 recovered and struck back. Marcus had just enough time to throw one arm across his chest as the blow fell. The T-600 wasn't as smart as the Terminator that had attacked him in the San Francisco lab, but it could still kill him. The powerful blow knocked him off his feet. Blood dribbled down his cheek. Marcus thought it was blood, and not oil. It tasted like blood.

He looked up and stared into the barrel of the machine's vulcan cannon.

 _Oh. Shit._

Marcus licked blood from his lips and closed his eyes as the T-600 fired.

As the smoke cleared, he realized that he was still alive and opened his eyes again. The Terminator stared down at its arm in robot perplexity. The gun clicked and emitted a plume of smoke.

Marcus reached for his own gun. He jammed it up the much larger barrel of the cannon and pulled the trigger. Sparks erupted from the Terminator's shoulder and its arm jerked as the mechanisms inside short-circuited. Marcus fired again. The T-66 lurched forwards and sideways. The movement jammed Marcus's pistol inside the vulcan cannon and ripped it from his grasp. As Marcus grabbed futilely for the weapon with his left hand, the Terminator clubbed Marcus across the chest with his cannon. Sparks spattered onto his face and Marcus felt something snap deep inside him.

He heard people shouting, but the noise seemed a long way off.

The T-600's fist thudded into the grass beside Marcus's face. When that blow missed, it lifted its arm up for another strike. Marcus caught its elbow but it just shook him off. He covered his heart with his hand and sought desperately for options. The machine was stronger than he was, but it was ponderous and slow. If he could just get behind it...

The T-600 hit him again.

It was a predictable strategy, but an effective one. Marcus was more agile, but the T-600 was stronger. Therefore, the Terminator wasn't going to give Marcus a chance to get up. He felt the impact of each blow as it landed but the pain faded quickly after each bone-shattering impact. There was just the hideous thud-thud-thud as the T-600 pounded down at him. So far it had not landed a lethal strike, but it was only a matter of time.

He heard somebody scream.

It took Marcus a second to realize that it was not his own voice that had cried out. The T-600 staggered forwards like a falling tree. It stumbled to its knees. Marcus used the last of his energy to throw himself to the side. He saw a small silhouette behind the T-600 and heard Gabe calling, "Marcus! How do I kill it?" The programmer cradled a shotgun in his hands

Marcus crawled to his hands and knees and rose to his feet. Black spots gathered at the edge of his vision. "Not like that!" he coughed. "There's a spot at the back of its neck! A panel! You have to-" he broke off as he choked- "You have to remove it."

Gabe unloaded both barrels of the shotgun between the T-600's shoulder blades. Instead of reloading, he dropped the shotgun on the floor and dived for the Terminator's neck. It spun, trying to evade him, but Gabe locked both of his arms around its neck and clung like a limpet.

The helicopter landed on the other side of the clearing. Marcus saw a shadow slip from the cover of the forest as he drew his knife. He hoped it was the rest of the group.

He hoped that they were safe.

He looked back at the robot just in time to see the Terminator rip Gabe from its back using the same hold as the T-600 had pulled on him the day before. The machine held Gabe at arms' length for a few seconds, as if it couldn't decide what to do with him. Marcus lunged forwards, but he was too late. The T-600 gripped Gabe's head in the crook of its right elbow. It reached out, put its left hand gently on the crown of his head and flicked its wrist. Marcus could see the stunned expression on Gabe's face as his neck snapped with a meaty _crack_. The body tumbled to the floor. As it hit the ground Ada raced from the trees. She saw Gabe's corpse and screamed.

The Terminator took a step in Ada's direction. Its left foot landed on Gabe's outstretched arm but it did not hesitate. Its armoured boot crushed the limb into the ground. The T-600 kept on going, chasing Ada as she turned and ran back towards the safety of the 'copter.

Marcus jumped after it.

He caught the T-600's shoulders out of sheer luck and leaned in. The Terminator tried to grab his knee again, but this time Marcus was ready for it. He wedged his foot into the crook of the T-600's elbow as it reached for him and used the momentum to hammer the blade of his knife through the control panel and into the delicate circuits beneath.

The T-600 toppled forwards and Marcus fell with it. The Terminator landed face down. Its jaw gaped open as the light drained from its eyes. The hilt of Marcus's knife jutted from the base of its skull.

Marcus climbed from the corpse. Ada reached him seconds later. "You have to come!" she gasped."They're going! Is he..?"

Marcus nodded.

Ada closed her eyes and swallowed. When she opened her eyes again they were bright with tears but her voice was steady. "Then I want to take Gabe with us. Will you help me carry him?"

Gabe had not been a large man, but he was heavy enough. Marcus was at the end of his strength. Ada and Marcus dragged him to the 'copter between them. They both avoided looking at the place where Gabe's head sagged forwards onto his chest as they hauled him into the 'copter. William and the others were already inside. William cradled his daughter's head against his chest as they laid Gabe down at the back of the 'copter and covered him with a tarpaulin. When the corpse was covered decently Marcus made his way to the front of the 'copter and sat down; his back against the pilot's seats and one hand wrapped in the webbing that covered the interior.

"Who was that?" the co-pilot asked Marcus as the copter ascended.

"His name was Gabe," Ada said with dignity. She wiped her eyes.

"We're sorry," the pilot said. "He was one brave bastard. We saw you battling that 600, but couldn't really see a way to help. Then-"

"He wanted to leave you." Naomi said from the back of the copter.

Marcus looked at the pilot's frozen face. "Thanks," he said dryly.

The pilot gulped. "You all made it, didn't you?" he said brusquely. "You should be grateful."

Marcus snorted.

Ada glared at them all, "So what happens now?" she asked. "Where are we going?"

"New York, honey," the co-pilot replied.

Marcus sighed."Home," he told them. "We're going home."

They reached New York at midnight. A group of Resistance soldiers met them at the helipad and whisked Gabe's body away. Ada followed the corpse without another word. William and Naomi followed, wrapped in blankets. Marcus trailed behind them.

Connor met him before he left the helipad. "Did you find it?"

Marcus handed him the data stick. Connor glanced at the small device and tucked it away in his combats. He turned to watch the small file of civilians as they entered the base. "You got them?" he asked. "Congratulations."

"Lost two." Marcus told him.

"It's war." Connor said. He studied Marcus intently. "And what about you? Did you find what you were looking for?"

Marcus sighed. He ran his hand over his face and touched ragged, bruised flesh. "I haven't even looked at the code, if that's what you mean."

Connor shook his head. "Not that. Ever since the transplant failed, it's like you're searching for something. Whatever it is –salvation, redemption, call it what you will-I don't think you've found it yet. Don't think you'll ever find it. But you don't have to kill yourself to prove you've got a right to live."

"Bit rich coming from you, Connor." Marcus said. "I'm not the one with a kid on the way."

Connor laughed ruefully. "Maybe you're right. But you got a last chance. Not everyone does. You should make the most of it."

Marcus gestured at the fighters. "I'm a Terminator! Will they let me?"

"We will." Connor said. "Or most of us will, anyway. The question is, will you?" He dug his hands in the pockets of his combats and watched the 'copter rise again. Its lights gleamed in the twilight.

"What the hell's _that_ supposed to mean?" Marcus asked irritably.

"Relax a bit." Connor said. "The machines'll be back. They'll always be back." He inclined his head at Marcus and went to greet the programmers.

Marcus watched him walk away. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and headed for the nearest tunnel; to Blair and Kyle, and the rest of the West Coast Resistance.

 _The End._

I need a chance, a second chance, a third chance, a fourth chance,

A word, a signal, a nod, a little breath

Just to fool myself, to catch myself, to make it real, real...

'Strange Currencies' by REM.


End file.
